


But I thought you promised to call each other family?

by jello12451



Series: MCYT Music Conservatory AU [4]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Family Dynamics, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Music, Music Conservatory AU, Tommy and Tubbo beat sense into Wilbur and Phil, that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:29:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29707524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jello12451/pseuds/jello12451
Summary: And now that Tubbo could clearly see that not everything was alright, he began to pick up the little nuances that he had previously missed. The way that Dream, Ant, George and Sapnap’s talking seemed much too hushed for such a social group. The way that there were bags under Phil’s eyes, that seemed like they had been there for quite some time. The way Dream clenched his violin. The way Niki always hovered beside Wilbur, and how she moved in such an exaggerated way while playing.The way Wilbur and Phil, once two brothers in all but blood, refused to sit within three metres of each other.The way even Harvey’s usually bubbly and untempered enthusiasm seemed muted.The way everyone looked at the tenth chair.Empty.OR: Tommy and Tubbo navigate a broken family, and mend it along the way, one note at a time
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: MCYT Music Conservatory AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001253
Comments: 60
Kudos: 122





	But I thought you promised to call each other family?

**Author's Note:**

> SPINOFF  
> Okay but like this one's super long  
> And also it has spoilers for [Symphonies of Friends and Sonatas of Rivals](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165091/chapters/66344545), so you should probably read that first  
> Anyway let's go

Tommy is nothing if not persistent. 

Perhaps it was in the notes that he plays over and over again, ever since that moment in ninth grade when he met a group of ten. Or perhaps it was in the constant practice sessions, even at the expense of his school grades.

But Tommy is persistent. It’s well known.

It takes him years of nagging to allow his parents to apply for the same conservatory that visited his school three years ago, but he manages. Tubbo, too. He nags until he gets what he wants, and it may be annoying sometimes, but it gets him what he wants.

Ever since that day, his mind has been set on becoming Phil. Or Wilbur, perhaps. Or Technoblade. Any of them.

They’re his idols.

They’re Tubbo’s, too. Despite the fact that none of them are a cellist in any way. 

So Tommy and Tubbo end up waiting, year by year, eagerly, for them to come back. There’s no way that Technoblade will be able to escape the tours next year, and there’s no way that the school will pass up an opportunity to have _any_ students of the prestigious conservatory to visit the school again. 

So after the first year that Sleepy Bois Inc visited, Tommy and Tubbo practiced, waiting for the next year.

Their hopes plummeted when news came out that the prodigal violinist had died. 

And in all honesty, Tommy and Tubbo didn’t know Technoblade all that well. But it’s definitely a bummer.

Tommy will never admit it, but he had been looking forward to meeting the violinist again. His monotone, sarcastic voice- his dry jokes and how he somehow manages to convey emotion even when his tone is deadpan.

...how he _managed_ to convey emotion.

He’s gone.

Tommy has to remind himself of that.

He doesn’t know why he feels like he lost a brother instead of just an idol. 

(Maybe it was the dinner that Technoblade, Wilbur and Phil had snuck out and shared with Tommy and Tubbo, in the evening, right before they had to leave for their next destination. Maybe it was the night when the five of them were hanging out together, like they were a family.)

(Maybe it was the fact that Tommy has never felt welcome in his own home, and he felt so accepted in that little circle of instrumentalists that he just met.)

But it doesn’t affect him _all_ that much. Because in the end, Tommy never had a chance to truly know Technoblade. He isn’t Tubbo, who’s been by his side ever since he could remember. Likewise, Tommy isn’t Wilbur, who takes Techno’s death hard, nor is he Phil, who seems to be the closest to the deceased one.

You’d think the remaining two members of Sleepy Bois Inc would stay together and bond together, helping each other through their grief.

They didn’t.

The dawn of the day when the musicians are supposed to visit the high school again comes bright and clear, sunbeams streaming through Tommy’s window. He blinks blearily, burying his face in his pillow with a groan before he realizes what day it is.

Tommy shoots up with wide eyes and prepares himself for school in record time, barely calling out a bye over his shoulder before he’s waiting impatiently, tapping his foot in the bus station, looking for a certain brown-haired boy. The boy in question shows up not long after.

“Tommy!”

“Hey, big man!” Tommy grins. “Ready for today?”

Tubbo falters. Tommy notices, and the smile on his face immediately drops. “Tubbo?”

“No, it’s- it’s nothing.”

Tommy raises an eyebrow. “Don’t lie to me, big T. What’s up?”

“I…” Tubbo trails off, staring at the bustling street in front of them and the birds that fly across the sky. They’re silent for a moment, one contemplative and the other confused.

It’s Tubbo that starts the conversation again. “Don’t you think things will be different, this year? Because Technoblade is, well.”

 _Gone,_ he doesn’t say.

It hangs between them anyway.

Tommy frowns, before he forces himself to smile again. “Nah, Tubbo. They’ll be fine! They’re big men. They… they can move past it, especially since they have each other.”

Tubbo nods, taking his word for it- except Tommy knows his friend, and he knows that Tubbo doesn’t believe him.

They don’t get the opportunity to discuss it further, however. The two of them board the bus that comes screeching to a halt in front of them, and they’re driven to the school.

~

The walk from the bus and to the school pass in a blur, for Tommy. His growing excitement becomes harder and harder to temper down, and eventually he’s skipping across the hallways, fidgeting in all classes before music, and more than once, Tubbo has to stomp on his foot to tell him that the teacher has called on him. 

In a way, Tubbo is excited, as well. There is the opportunity to see people he has begun to think of as brothers again, even if one of them is missing. The last thoght puts a frown on his face, again, but Tommy is far more excited and Tubbo remains happy for his sake.

At the same time, however, he’s been dreading this day for a while. 

_What if they couldn’t move on?_

_What if they aren’t here?_

_What if they lost motivation?_

_What if they didn’t want to see Tommy or Tubbo again?_

Tubbo shakes these thoughts from his head and continues to take notes for math, knowing full well that Tommy is in no state to pay attention to the quadratic functions they’re being taught. He’ll deal with it later. 

(Tubbo would be lying if he said that he wasn’t sneaking glances at the clock, waiting for the period to end so that he could rush to music, either.)

And when they’re _finally_ dismissed, both of them rush to the classroom. The nerves that Tubbo had been crushing and forcing down come back full force, and he waits in anticipation for the classroom door to open.

At first, everything looks perfectly fine.

The nine musicians are all there, even though there’s one missing. Harvey, with his trombone, cleaning out his instrument. Niki, adjusting her flute. Ant and Dream and George and Sapnap, talking in hushed tones- Bad, sitting down, face lighting up when he sees Tubbo. 

And Wilbur and Phil.

A small smile lights up Wilbur’s face when he sees Tubbo and Tommy, the former of which feels his fears being put to rest. Despite the lack of online contact for the past two months, ever since Technoblade’s death, Tubbo is happy that Wilbur hasn’t forgotten them.

Tommy, as expected, yells and crashes into Wilbur. He is immediately reprimanded by their music professor to be more careful, though they all know that Tommy would never allow any harm to come to any instrument. Tubbo catches up with Tommy, and then they’re joined in a group hug.

Phil doesn’t come over.

Phil tries.

Wilbur spots him, and sends him a glare so venomous that Phil has to physically take a step back. 

To say Tubbo is confused is an understatement.

“Wilbur? What-?”

Wilbur gently extracts himself from the hug. _Don’t worry about it,_ he signs.

As if.

Speaking of which-

“Wilbur, why don’t you talk?” Tommy asks. “I mean, you can clearly hear me just fine, and- not that I don’t understand sign language, I do, but seriously, why don’t you talk?”

Tubbo does not miss the way Wilbur winces at the words ‘you can clearly hear me.’

“Wilbur.” Tubbo says carefully, after tapping his shoulder to get his attention. “Wilbur. What happened?”

The way the clarinetist freezes is not a good indicator.

“Wilbur? What’s with- what’s with signing? And Phil, and- Wilbur, _what happened?_ ” Tommy demanded. 

And now that Tubbo could clearly see that not everything was alright, he began to pick up the little nuances that he had previously missed. The way that Dream, Ant, George and Sapnap’s talking seemed much too hushed for such a social group. The way that there were bags under Phil’s eyes, that seemed like they had been there for quite some time. The way Dream clenched his violin. The way Niki always hovered beside Wilbur, and how she moved in such an exaggerated way while playing. 

The way Wilbur and Phil, once two brothers in all but blood, refused to sit within three metres of each other. 

The way even Harvey’s usually bubbly and untempered enthusiasm seemed muted. 

The way everyone looked at the tenth chair.

Empty.

~

The day is dry.

Dry, when it should be full of music- dry, when the rivers of sound should be flowing freely and should be washing the landscape, bringing life everywhere. Dry and barren, when the day should be greener than ever.

Tommy stares at the sheet music in front of him, and yet, he can’t bring himself to truly immerse himself in the piece. Because Phil, who’s supposed to be gently instructing him, looks like he would rather be somewhere else.

Perhaps Tubbo was right. Perhaps Technoblade’s death affected them all so much more than they anticipated. 

Tommy takes a deep breath, and he tries to play.

He really does.

But Mendelssohn no longer calls to him the same way. It’s like something is missing, and there’s an empty, yawning gap _somewhere_ that he’s meant to fix, even though he’s playing all the chords and octaves in his left and right hands. 

Really, there’s nothing. Give him some credit.

(The top notes are far too quiet, and Phil points it out, though not unkindly.)

Tommy has never liked slow sections. It’s a given- his fiery personality and impulsive decisions make him much more suitable for explosive and virtuosic pieces. But a pianist can only go so far without the calm of Chopin, or Liszt, or even Rachmaninoff.

Or Mendelssohn.

Effortlessly, Tommy transfers the chords to his left hand, and his right hand plays a single, simple melodic line. Everything is tranquil and quiet, just like how the section should be. 

The Capriccioso to the Rondo. 

Tommy’s mind drifts to Tubbo, who’s currently on the other end of the room. If they could split the piece into sections for different people to play, Tubbo would no doubt master the Capriccioso and Tommy the Rondo.

But Tubbo is a cellist.

He slips, and plays a high A instead of a G-sharp, which he corrects quickly. Tommy’s face burns up ever so slightly before he returns his focus to the black and white keys. 

The music gets quieter, and then it moves forward ever so slightly. Faster, like there’s unrest, permeating each note, and then his foot comes down on the pedals with the loud octaves in his right hand. The notes on the page are significantly more cramped.

The same pattern, with quick and brief double-dotted eighth notes in the left hand, and the same phrase repeated in the right hand, albeit with a little modification every time.

Then it gets louder.

Louder.

Fortissimo octaves and chords dominate two bars, before it quiets down again with the double-dot rhythm and legato phrases.

Peace does not last long.

It never has, with Tommy. But it doesn’t with Mendelssohn, either. 

Even when the left hand notes are no longer polyphonic, and they slow down into half notes, and even when the right hand sixteenth notes slow down into fermatas.

Tommy can barely restrain a smirk.

This is his domain.

Rondo starts with two light sixteenth notes, E and D-sharp respectively, then moving into five eighth notes. This motif repeats for the better part of the Rondo, especially the A section. 

The left hand enters with the same melody exactly half a bar after the right hand, though the way the notes move up and down are _exactly_ opposite of the other hand after only one more bar. This repeats one more time, before the left hand is a pattern of sixteenths in minor seconds and eighths in octaves.

Then, the octaves in the left hand span over three octaves as the right hand echoes the melody, only stopping when the left hand stays at the higher octaves.

Fast sixteenths in the right hand.

It’s impossibly fast. _All_ of it is impossibly fast, and even though there is a brief _con anima_ section, in the end, it reverts to its original, quick and light-paced nature.

_Leggiero._

What a fitting marking.

Especially when the left and right hands alternate octaves, and Tommy’s fingers brush over the keys nimbly, though they seem to have the same force as if Tommy had put all his weight on the keys. 

It’s mostly the same patterns.

After all, that’s how a rondo is.

E major. E minor.

Tubbo. Tommy.

Some pair they make.

Like Wilbur and Phil should’ve.

Tommy lets out a small, inaudible huff of air at that thought.

~

And a year later, nothing changes, either.

Except everything does.

Because Phil graduates, and Phil does not wait for the others.

Tubbo stares, somewhat forlorn, at Tommy as his hands rest idly on the monochromatic keyboard. 

They didn’t get an explanation, last year. When they snuck out of their houses, to sneak over to where the bus was parked, hoping to gain the attention of Wilbur and Phil before they left- all they got were snippets of an argument they did not understand.

And two years ago, Tubbo remembers a conversation with Bad that he had, clearly.

_“Isn’t Phil older than all of you, by a year?” Tubbo asked nervously, hands worrying the fabric at the edge of his shirt. “Wouldn’t he graduate a year before all of you?”_

_Bad hummed. “I suppose.”_

_“So…” Tubbo stuttered. “How-how do you deal with the knowledge that one day, Phil will leave all of you behind?”_

_The unspoken question: How do you deal with the knowledge that one day, you will likely be very, very alone?_

_That everyone will find their own places in the world?_

_That everyone will become different members of society?_

_Bad’s eyes had softened, at that. “Hm… I guess it’s trust? I don’t know, Tubbo.” Bad made a shrugging motion. “We’ve barely known each other for too long, and yet it seems like we slot into the places in each other’s lives so easily. And even though Phil is, well- old.” They shared a chuckle over that. “I have faith that Phil will wait for the rest of us.”_

_Tubbo glanced over to where Tommy was enthusiastically laying out his plans to the Sleepy Bois. “Yeah?”_

_“Yeah.” And Bad had sounded so certain._

_A hesitant smile had creeped up on Tubbo’s face, then._

But two years later, Phil didn’t wait.

They’re no longer as young. Tubbo and Tommy will graduate the year after the ones at the conservatory do. They’ve become more pragmatic, and they are more mature- even Tommy, who understands and learns.

And their mentors are even more obviously so.

The cheer present two years ago had diminished last year-

_The way they refused to let two others replace the group of ten that they were now missing. The way their faces would drop at the mere mention of Technoblade, Wilbur, or even Phil. The way Wilbur sometimes shouted, and sometimes didn’t exercise his vocal chords at all._

\- and this year, it vanished. 

Like the morning dew, like the snow melting into spring- except there was no sunrise, and there was no flowering field.

A better description would perhaps be the water evaporating into nothing in a dry, barren desert.

_Dry._

“Tubbo?”

The cellist snapped back to attention and gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Bad… I got lost in my thoughts.”

“It’s alright.” 

Tubbo’s eyes drifted back to the sheet music.

“You know.” Bad said suddenly. “La Muse et Le Poete was the piece I played two years ago, here.”

Tubbo blinked a few times. “...yeah.”

“It was also the first one that Techno taught me.”

“...what?”

“Yeah.” Bad gave a light laugh. “Technoblade was a violinist. But his sense of music was all-encompassing, really- he could understand the score and the composers so well. He knew all of us better than we knew ourselves. He helped us all.”

Tubbo’s hand unconsciously tightened on his bow.

“And… we broke apart when our support left us.”

“What happened?” Tubbo asked, quietly. “Why is it like this? Why did Phil leave?”

Bad turned to Tubbo, face blank. “Because he graduated.”

“But you said you were sure that he’d wait for you.” Tubbo persisted. “You said that despite the age gap, Phil would wait, even though he’d only truly known you all for a couple of days. You said it felt right. What changed?”

Silence, between them. Neither of them saw Dream shoot Bad a look.

“I…” Bad trailed off. “Lots of things, Tubbo. So many.”

“That’s not an answer.” Tubbo insisted.

“It’s not.” Bad agreed. “But it’s the best I can give you.”

At the other side of the room, Tommy takes his hands off the keyboard.

~

“You know what?” Tommy declared. “Fuck it, Tubbo. We’re going to go see them. We’re going to _ask_ them why, and we’re going to get answers.”

“...are you sure about this?” Tubbo asked, unsure. As much as he wants answers…

Perhaps he would’ve been more insistent on stopping themselves if Bad had given him an answer earlier.

The thought sends another bolt of bitterness through Tubbo, and he nods resolutely. “Okay, let’s go.”

He makes it a few steps away before he turns back to see Tommy staring at him, gaping. “Tommy? Big T? You good?”

“You- just-” Tommy splutters. “Just like that?”

“Yeah.” Tubbo tilts his head ever so slightly. “I mean, how else? We need answers. We’ll get them.”

“I-” Tommy stumbles on his words for a little longer before he runs after Tubbo. “Alright. We’re getting answers.”

They run across the streets, stopping only at lights, because damn would it suck if they were stopped from getting closure by a bus. 

It’s a simple matter to get to the tour buses. They know the route by memory.

What they _aren’t_ expecting is the conversation they unknowingly overhear.

“Wilbur Soot, will you _think of others for once?_ ”

Tommy and Tubbo freeze. Neither of them dare to breathe too loudly, waiting, entranced by the conversation and listening for the other voice.

“Dream, calm down-”

“I will not fucking _calm down._ You saw how Tommy and Tubbo were looking for explanations. Wilbur Soot, what do you think you’re _pulling?_ ”

Tubbo peeks out from behind the car they’re hiding behind, and is met with the sight of Dream facing off with Wilbur, George’s hand on his shoulder. The others are standing off at around the side, though Niki seems to be backing Wilbur.

Tubbo doesn’t understand.

“You pushed _all of us_ away.” Dream spits, and oh, he looks _furious._ “Tubbo and Tommy are half convinced you’re selectively mute to them because you hate them, Phil has gone who-knows-where, and this group has fucking _fallen apart._ ”

“Oh, so it’s all my fault?” And gods, Wilbur’s voice sounds so scratchy from disuse, but it’s there. And Tubbo unconsciously does a double take at the sound of it. 

“Don’t act so innocent, _all of you._ We’re all responsible.”

“Maybe it would be easier for us if we had you and Phil helping each other out of it.” Ant says quietly, and _everyone_ swivels around to look at him, because he _never_ takes sides. “Don’t act like you didn’t know we were looking for a sign of family to build on.”

“You expected me to _forgive Phil?_ ” Wilbur hisses. “I did so much- I gave up my _hearing_ , for fuck’s sake! And Phil doesn’t even _think_ to tell me that Technoblade was fucking-” Wilbur cuts himself off.

Silence. 

“...Wilbur does have a little bit of a point.” Niki said quietly. 

“That doesn’t excuse whatever-” Harvey gestured vaguely to Wilbur. “-whatever he’s trying to do. We need to pull ourselves together.”

“Oh, sure, Harvey. Enlighten us, then. Tell us what we should do.”

Harvey’s eyes flashed with something unreadable. “Maybe we should try fixing our own shortcomings.”

“Oh, please.” Wilbur drawled. “We should’ve done that a long time ago.”

“Yes.” Harvey fixed Wilbur with a glare. “Like the way we treat each other, for one.”

“We’re no perfect family, I know.” Bad gently said. “And I don’t think we’ll be able to become a perfect one- but we gotta try, right? For- for Techno.”

Wilbur and Dream stilled. 

And for a moment, it seemed like things were going to work out.

But the _one_ thing Wilbur was repeating in his head was _Phil kept the secret from him. Phil didn’t trust him. Techno didn’t trust him. They didn’t trust him to handle the secret, even though they knew they couldn’t keep it forever._

“Wilbur?”

“ _No._ ” He grits out. “ _No._ I’m not going to forgive Phil. He doesn’t deserve my forgiveness.”

“And the rest of us, then?” Harvey demanded. He ignored the way Ant was trying to get him to calm down. “And the rest of us? You’ve always played favourites- chosen Phil and Techno over the rest of us. Yes, I know we all play favourites- but you do it so _blatantly._ Wilbur Soot, are you going to forsake the rest of us for your own _selfish bitterness?_ ”

“So _I’m_ insensitive?” Wilbur bites back. “Who was it that didn’t know how to cope properly? That didn’t know how to stop making jokes?”

Harvey flinches.

“Wilbur…” Niki tapped his shoulder, sounding unsure. “Wilbur… I think that’s enough?”

“Harvey.” Ant tugged on the trombonist’s arm. “Harvey-”

“So this is how it is.” Harvey says, bitterly. “Ant and I are the outcasts. The ones that none of you make an effort to understand. Your last choices.”

Niki flinches, this time. “No, Harvey, it’s not that-”

“Don’t tell me it’s not that.” Harvey says, eyes hardening. “You know it’s how it is. We were always just here to fill the numbers.”

Even Sapnap looked uncomfortable, now. “Ant?” He called out to the bassist, whose head snapped to attention. “Ant? You don’t… you don’t feel that way, right?”

Sapnap sounded like he was trying to convince himself of that.

Ant didn’t respond.

That was good enough of an answer in and of itself.

“Maybe there’s a reason for that.” Wilbur whispers. “You really think people without the same interests can manage to find the same language to speak?”

Tubbo- Tubbo doesn’t know what to do.

“So that’s it, then.” Wilbur mutters. “That’s it. We’re done here.”

He stalked onto the vehicle, Niki quickly following, leaving six broken instrumentalists.

“Ant?” George tries. “Ant, surely- surely you didn’t mean that. It’s been the five of us for a long time, hasn’t it? Muffinteers plus- plus…” George falters.

“Plus.” Ant agrees, murmuring. “Plus Ant. After all, it’s always been the string quartet _plus_ the bass, hasn’t it?”

Dream didn’t have anything to say to that.

“Yeah… Harvey’s right.” Ant says, turning away, Harvey trailing after him, looking significantly less sure of himself. “We’ve always been the odd ones out.”

Long after the other two have left, the Muffinteers stand still in shock. It’s only when the professor calls them and tells them they’re leaving soon, do they reluctantly board the bus.

And long after the bus has driven off, Tubbo and Tommy are still sitting there, filled with shock over what has just been revealed to them. 

When they get home, their parents ask them what’s wrong, and both of them shake their heads mutely. Even Tommy. Even loud, boisterous, excitable Tommy.

The adults pass it off as an off day.

Neither Tommy nor Tubbo tell them that they just saw a family fall apart.

~

The next year passes without fanfare. Except there are ten _new_ musicians visiting the school. Not Phil, not Wilbur, not Harvey or Niki or even _Dream._

It hurts Tommy, a little, to know that they all left.

It’s not to say that the new ones are bad musicians, or bad people, in general. There’s someone called R- Tommy has no idea why her name is a letter, but Tubbo’s name is _Tubbo_ , so he’ll digress- who plays trumpet, and she seems to never stray too far from another called Ecinue, who is the one who plays French horn.

Tommy is reminded of Harvey. 

He hides his pain behind a laugh and watches young musicians bond with who could possibly be their future mentors.

And then there is a oboist and a violinist- Taye and Aria, and Aria has a friend called Julia, who plays the piano with nimble and quick fingers. The three of them are almost inseparable as well, and they play weird songs that they’ve arranged, just to fit their awkward instrument choices.

Tubbo is reminded of Wilbur, of Phil, of _Technoblade._

He smiles through the tears and watches those younger than him approach the trio shyly, and watches as Taye is- well, aggressively kind, and Aria is a little intimidating, as is Julia- but they’re all kind, and it hurts.

And there’s another violinist- BlueQuills, who stays with Witsend, another violinist, just as talented. And there’s Wise, both violinist and violist, Liz, the group’s cellist, and Lee, their bassist.

Both Tommy and Tubbo are reminded of Dream, of Sapnap, of George, of Bad, and of Ant.

And they watch.

The day passes. The day ends. Ten musicians board a bus, just like a year prior and like their predecessors, waving goodbye to bright-eyed, aspiring instrumentalists.

Tommy and Tubbo watch the bus drive off with something akin to sadness in their eyes.

“Hey, Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ll apply for the conservatory, won’t you?”

“..of course, Tubbo. Of course.”

~

The morning of Tubbo’s audition day dawns with excitement and nervousness.

It all passes in a blur. Before he knows it, he’s walking onto a stage. On the other side of those curtains, he knows that there’s a judge panel, waiting to listen to his playing. 

The cello feels heavier than usual.

He sets his cello strap down, and pulls out his endpin. He knows his bow is rosined well enough, but checks it anyway.

The guide had told him “whenever he’s ready.”

Tubbo knows he’ll never be ready. 

Because it comes down to this.

His entire career as a musician.

Tubbo takes a deep breath, pushes through the cloud of anxiety, raises his bow up. And the bow goes down, touching the string, and he _plays._

~

“TUBBO! BIG MAN! I GOT IN!”

“YOOOOOOO! Congrats, man!”

“Check your email, check your email! They’re bound to have sent all of the acceptance letters, now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! C’mon, check!”

“...”

“...”

“Dear Tubbo… we are PLEASED TO OFFER YOU A PLACE IN THE CELLO PROGRAM AT THE CONSERVATORY! TOMMY, I GOT IN TOO!”

“YEAHHHHHH, BIG MAN! LET’S GO!”

“WOOOO!”

~

The months pass quickly, after that. Though during those last three months, Tommy and Tubbo could not wait to go to the conservatory, once graduation rolled along, they wished that they had cherished the few months they had left.

Before they knew it, they were sitting in the auditorium, and they had hats on and flowers and the certificates were being handed out.

And right when everything seems to be over, there is someone who stands up and asks to sing a final song- Tommy recognizes her as Maya, and watches as she walks up, robes and all, to the auditorium with nothing but a guitar.

“Hello.” Maya speaks into the microphone, looking incredibly nervous. “I- uh. Sorry for this, it’s probably unexpected. But- uhh. Um. Okay, let’s- let’s start this with- you all remember Jello?”

There is a sea of nods. Around a year ago, Jello had gone and left the school, going into the very conservatory that Tommy and Tubbo were going to a year early. But they are Tommy’s age, and Tommy wonders absentmindedly if he’ll see them again.

“Yeah. So uh, they wrote a song. Emailed it to me a couple days ago, asking me to sing it for everyone- and yeah, it’s probably not going to be perfect, y’know, but- yeah. Bear with me, yeah?”

Maya doesn’t wait for an affirmative. She picks up the guitar, sits, and strums the chords.

D major, first inversion.

A major, root position, then up to second inversion.

B minor, also second inversion.

A D major, root position… suspended fourth? Tommy’s head tils ever so slightly at the choice, but it actually blends decently well.

D major again, then descending with A major, G major, D major and then A major again.

The chords repeat one more time, except Tommy is a little startled by the violin that suddenly starts playing- a recording. He sees the way Maya’s lips quirk up- oh, she’s planned this, alright.

Her voice fills the hall.

 _The years swing by,  
_ _As the pendulum goes  
_ _Back and forth_

Tubbo, back when they were eight, smiling at him brightly and telling him not to be scared of the bees swarming around him. Tubbo, now seventeen, nearing eighteen, taller- though not taller than Tommy.

 _The months tick by,  
_ _As the hands on the clock strike  
_ _Twelve once more_

His first music classes.

Playing one-octave, C major scales that have now evolved into four-octave ones.

 _So time has come and time has gone  
_ _The memories we remember_

Wilbur and Phil, laughing brightly. Technoblade, sitting to the side, though there’s a barely visible smile on the violinist’s face.

 _All the times we’ve walked these halls  
_ _And laughed together_

Harvey, blowing his trombone into other people’s ears. Bad, laughing quietly as Sapnap and George bickered over the most inconsequential things.

 _And though our paths split off  
_ _And we will find our own place in this world  
_ _And though our paths split off  
_ _And we may never see each other again_

Other students, going to become other people. Ranboo, with dreams of an artist. Quackity and Schlatt, following the former. Though they left two years before Tommy did.

 _And though our paths split off  
_ _And we might never find each other  
_ _Dear friend, it’s been a good run with you…_

The chords are back. Tommy’s pretty sure Tubbo’s crying, as he clings onto him- for once, he does not complain about his friend being clingy.

 _We had dreams  
_ _Do you remember sitting here and grandly saying,  
_ _“I’ll grow up and become the best the world has ever seen!”_

Tommy, three years ago, rambling on and on about his plans for the future as the three Sleepy Bois look at him with fond expressions on their faces.

 _I look back  
_ _I remember waiting impatiently to grow older  
_ _And now I look back, and wish I’d cherished what has been_

Tubbo, ranting on and on about how excited he was for the conservatory. Tubbo, only three months later, telling him with tears in his eyes how much he wishes that they could’ve spent more time with their friends.

 _So time has come and time has gone  
_ _The memories we remember  
_ _All the times we’ve walked these halls  
_ _And laughed together_

The new generation of geniuses from the conservatory. R. Ecinue. Taye. Aria. Julia. BlueQuills. Witsend. Wise. Liz. Lee. Perhaps Jello and Maya, too. They’ve always been musically-inclined, and close with the others, despite their slight age gap.

 _And though our paths split off  
_ _And we will find our own place in this world  
_ _And though our paths split off  
_ _And we may never see each other again_

No, Tommy’s not crying.

Okay, he is. Give him some credit. It’s graduation. Even big men cry at graduation.

 _And though our paths split off  
_ _And we may never find each other  
_ _Dear friend, it’s been a good run with you…_

And now, Tommy knows why they had to have a violin recording. Because the string tremolo is left alone, and then- E major?

 _And though our paths split off  
_ _And we will find our own place in this world  
_ _And though our paths split off  
_ _And we may never see each other again_

 _And though our paths split off  
_ _And we just might forget each other  
_ _Dear friend, it’s been a good run with you…_

The lights dim. Is that part of the plan?

Tommy is surprised with the projector suddenly flickering on. It’s not even displaying anything complicated- just white words on a black background.

_To the ones whose paths split off and wound away from each other._

Wilbur. Phil. Techno.

_To the ones who left and the ones who had been left behind._

Harvey. Ant.

_To the ones we’ve forgotten- may we find ourselves together again._

There isn’t a single dry eye in the auditorium, that day.

~

Summer passes abnormally fast. In September, Tommy and Tubbo step into the same conservatory their brothers in all but blood had, and they breathe it all in.

They feel themselves _in the moment._

It’s perfect.

It feels like their journey has started. Has _truly_ started.

Briefly, Tubbo’s mind thinks of nine people, who, if the rumours are any indication, have split off and gone to other sides of the world.

Far, _far_ away from each other.

Something twists in Tubbo’s chest at the thought.

He carefully does not think about it, and it’s easier to ignore once they meet some other new people. There’s someone called Fundy- yeah, he’s _definitely_ a furry- and they bump into someone about a year older than them- Eret, they’re called.

Another pianist. An oboist.

Whatever Tommy had been expecting from the conservatory, it certainly wasn’t this. A mess of schedules, with all sorts of subjects crammed in- definitely not only practice, and he finds himself busying with music theory late into the night, several nights.

But he wouldn’t trade it for another program.

The hours that he _does_ get to play piano, he makes the most of, no matter how much the practice rooms stink. And sometimes, Tubbo will join him- sometimes, they play sonatas, or concertos, or their own arrangements.

Sometimes, it’s a wonky quartet, in one of the few rooms with two pianos and enough space for a cello and an oboe.

But it’s music.

And the year passes in relative peace.

And before they know it, it’s summer again. The end of the year concert has just been played, and the generation three years above theirs are saying tearful goodbyes. 

“Hey.” Tommy whips around and sees Fundy’s grin.

“Jesus, big man, don’t scare me like that!” Tommy groans. “I was having my moment of peace.”

Fundy raises his eyebrows. “Moment of peace. A moment of peace, for _Tommyinnit._ ”

“Yes, exactly.”

“I think you’d rather burn down the school.”

“I’m not the school’s arsonist-”

“You’re perfectly qualified to be it-”

“Says _you_ , furry-”

“I’m not a furry-”

“Oh, you’re definitely a furry.” Tubbo pipes up.

Tommy grins and Fundy does a face palm. 

“Why do I even hang around with you idiots?” He mutters.

Eret steps into their view. “Because we’re your friends.”

“Thanks, Eret.” Fundy grumbles. “Needed the reminder.”

Eret flashes all of them a cheeky grin before they run off to meet their childhood friends. Fundy sighs.

“Well, I’ll see you guys in two months?”

“Or sooner, if we run into each other before that.” Tubbo jokes. “The world is small.”

“The world is small, indeed.” Fundy laughs. “See you.”

Tommy gives a little salute as Fundy waves, running off to his own little family.

The smile slides off Tommy’s face as soon as Fundy has disappeared from their view. “You’re sure Wilbur and Niki are in town?”

“Yeah.” Tubbo nods. “Checked. They aren’t exactly hard to track, being successful and- well. Well-known.”

“Ha.” Tommy snickers. “So, we just mob them right after their performance?”

“It should be done quite soon.” Tubbo remarks, taking a glance at his watch. “Yeah. Let’s get there.”

~

“Niki!”

The flutist in question turns her head around, scanning the crowd. She would ignore the call, being someone fairly well-known- but the rest of the world calls her Nihachu, and not Niki. She ignores Wilbur’s questioning look and narrows her eyes.

“Niki!”

She turns her head in the direction of the shout, this time, and her eyes bug out at the sight of two familiar boys. Tommy is grinning, and Tubbo is the one who shouted, waving his hands above his head.

There’s a sort of happiness that fills her, and she grabs Wilbur’s wrist, ignoring his sound of protest and weaves through the crowd, making her way to the two boys.

“Tubbo! Tommy!” She watches as the smiles on their faces get wider as she drags a only half-grumbling Wilbur after her. Wilbur’s eyes had found the duo, and there’s a small smile gracing his own lips, too, though it is significantly more… muted.

 _Like Harvey’s enthusiasm._ Tubbo unwittingly thinks about, and shoves the thought far in to the back of his mind.

“Hey, Niki! Wilbur!” Tommy exclaims, and crushes Niki in a hug, which she happily returns. “It’s been so long! You’ve both grown.” Niki teases, which earns a small flush from Tommy and a chortle from Tubbo at Tommy’s expense. 

“So, what’s been going on with you?” Tubbo asks brightly, after they’ve walked out of the concert hall and sat down, sipping bubble tea at a nearby shop. 

“Oh, nothing much.” Niki responds lightly, like nothing’s wrong.

Tommy and Tubbo exchange a look.

Niki will never be able to understand how the two boys seem to communicate sentences with glances alone.

“...really?” Tommy tries, and _oh,_ he sounds _quiet._

_Does Tommy know?_

“Yeah, really.” Niki forces a smile on her own face, and she watches as Tubbo’s face falls the slightest bit.

_Yeah, they definitely know._

But Niki isn’t quite ready to breach this topic. And it looks like Tommy and Tubbo aren’t going to push, either. 

So they dance around it.

Wilbur turns to her, slightly, asking a silent question. Niki forgets, sometimes, that Wilbur will only see half the side of the conversation, and she shakes her head- a silent promise to tell him later.

Tommy stirs the boba in his cup uncomfortably.

“....so!” Tubbo breaks the silence, clapping his hands together. “Any plans for the near future?”

 _That_ get’s Wilbur’s attention. “Uhh. Not really? We’re just- we’re just planning to hop around. Got a few concerts overseas over the next few months. That’s about it, I suppose. Nothing too big.”

Tubbo nudges Tommy, whose eyes gleam with a kind of interest. “Nothing much?”

“Tommy.” Niki shifts warily, though it’s mostly light-hearted. “Where are you...going with this?”

The expression of the younger pianist breaks out into another grin- and the blue eyes and blond hair are too much like someone with a green and white bucket hat, but Niki _pushes the thoughts down-_

“We were wondering.” Tommy drags out. “If we could come along?”

Silence, between them. Only the bustling of the busy shop fill the void of noise in between them.

“...Tag along?” Wilbur asks carefully.

“Yeah!” Tommy nods. “We can just follow along and see what you guys usually do! Tubbo and I don’t have much to do, anyway, and it would be a great experience!”

Beside him, Tubbo hurries to nod as well.

Niki and Wilbur exchange a look. “Uhh…”

“Come onnn.” Tommy whines. “ _Please?_ ”

And oh- that’s a _Tommyinnit please._

“Well…” Niki says slowly. “I don’t see any harm in it-”

She’s abruptly cut off by Tubbo’s loud cheering. And it’s _Tubbo cheering and Tommy pulling him down,_ which is a sight in and of itself, but Niki can’t find it in herself to care about the other people, turning heads to stare at them.

Some group they make.

“Oh, that’s amazing- when do we leave?”

“Niki, I doubt we can buy tickets for them this late.” Wilbur sounds tired- how he manages to put emotion in his voice, at all, without hearing it, is beyond Niki, but she digresses.

“Oh, we’ll manage.” Now that she thinks of it, the prospect of having the two boys tag along sounds much more appealing. Maybe they can get Wilbur out of this state of- whatever this is. “We’ll manage.”

Wilbur raises an eyebrow.

Niki puts a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be fine. It’s only two months- they’ll have to be back at the conservatory by September, anyway.”

Wilbur frowns, but nods. Tubbo continues to cheer.

~

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“Are we there yet?”

“I swear, if you ask one more time I’ll punt you into the fucking sun.”

“Are we there yet?”

“Tommy, Wilbur’s not the pilot. He doesn’t control how quickly we go.”

“I’m aware. I just wanted to annoy him.”

“Why, you little shit-”

~

_WilburSoot added Nihachu, TommyInnit and Tubbo_ to the group chat_

_WilburSoot renamed the group chat to_ **_Gremlins_ **

**Nihachu:** Wil. :(

 **WilburSoot:** Ugh

 _WilburSoot renamed the group chat to_ **_We’re somewhat dead inside_ **

**TommyInnit:** HEY BIG MAN

 **WilburSoot:** Why did we agree to bring the gremlin child again

 **TommyInnit:** I’M NOT A CHILD, WILBUR

 **Tubbo_:** I mean he’s technically right. We’re all legal adults- nineteen, nearly.

 **WilburSoot:** Children.

 **Nihachu:** I mean, to put it in perspective- we’re a good five years older than you two.

 **TommyInnit:** STILL NOT A CHILD

 **WilburSoot:** Whatever. 

**WilburSoot:** Where are we meeting back up again?

 **Tubbo_:** Are you sure we can’t listen to the concert? 

**Nihachu:** Sorry, Tubbo :( the entire hall is sold out

 **Tubbo_:** It’s fine .-.

 **WilburSoot:** How is your spelling so good

 **WilburSoot:** Last I checked you’re dyslexic

 **Tubbo_:** Autocorrect :D

 **WilburSoot:** One day autocorrect will do something meme-worthy and I will hold it above you for the rest of eternity

 **Tubbo_:** o_O

 **Nihachu:** ...anyway

 **Nihachu:** We should be done by around 8pm. You boys have dinner first, alright? We can meet back at the hotel

 **Tubbo_:** We pick our _own_ dinner?

 **TommyInnit:** YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

 **WilburSoot:** We’ve made a grave mistake

 **Nihachu:** Just don’t eat sand or something

 **WilburSoot:** Hey okay- Sand is just fine, I’ll have you know. Feel free to eat sand for dinner

 **Tubbo_:** ...are you sure that’s okay for our digestive systems, Wilbur

 **WilburSoot:** I still eat sand, it’s nothing bad

 **TommyInnit:** EXCUSE ME

 **Nihachu:** Do I need to have another talk with you

 **Tubbo_:** Surely Phil wouldn’t approve of this

 **Tubbo_:** Wilbur?

 **Tubbo_:** uhh

 **Nihachu:** He’s offline now…

 **Nihachu:** DMs, Tubbo

~

“Hey Fundy!” Tubbo smiled at the face on his screen, noting from the corner of his eye how Tommy’s head snapped up. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty good!” Fundy’s audio sounds a little muffled, like there’s heavy wind blowing. “We’re at the beach, right now, actually.” Fundy turns the camera around, and Tubbo can see the waves crashing on shore.

“Cool!” Tommy’s face pops into Fundy’s view. “Hey, Fundy, you’ve been practicing?”

Fundy snorts. “Of course. Have _you?_ ”

“Not as much.” Tubbo buts in before Tommy can get a word in, and talks over Tommy’s loud protests. “We’ve been tagging along with Wilbur and Niki, and _boy_ do they hop all around the world. It isn’t even an exaggeration.”

“I bet.” Fundy said, looking vaguely amused. “Hey, you think we could get Eret to join us?”

“I think Eret said they’re busy.” Tubbo replied. “They have a workshop to do or something with the little kids.”

“Ah, bummer.” Fundy leans back in his beach chair. “Sometimes I forget that he’s in second year, and he goes out to the younger kids to spread music.”

“Hey, we’ll be eligible next year, no?” Tubbo nudges Tommy, who finally quiets down.

Fundy tilts his head. “I think so, yeah. You plan on applying?”

Tommy flashes a grin, complete with teeth. “Oh, you bet.”

~

_Fundy added The_Eret, TommyInnit and Tubbo_ to the group chat_

_Fundy renamed the chat to_ **_Hi_ **

**Fundy:** Hello

 **The_Eret:** Interesting name

 **TommyInnit:** ERET, BIG MAN

 **TommyInnit:** HOW ARE YOU

 **The_Eret:** Doing great, thank you :)

 **Tubbo_:** Tommy is running on four hours of sleep and about five cups of coffee. Please don’t mind him

 **TommyInnit:** I DO NOT NEED SLEEP

 **Tubbo_:** Tommy, don’t make me walk over there and forcefully remove your phone

 **TommyInnit:** I AM BIG MAN, I DO NOT NEED SLEEP

 **Tubbo_:** I am never letting you have coffee ever again

 **Fundy:** Probably a good choice, ngl

 **The_Eret:** So…

 **The_Eret:** How have you guys been?

 **Tubbo_:** It’s been fun

 **Fundy:** Twenty-four

 **TommyInnit:** SEVEN

 **Tubbo_:** Thirty-seven

 **The_Eret:**

**TommyInnit:** A HUNDRED AND THIRTY SIX

 **Fundy:** sixty-five

 **The_Eret:** uhhhhhh

 **TommyInnit:** YOU TAKE THAT BACK, FUNDY, YOU TAKE THAT BACK

 **Fundy:** Forty-eight :)

 **Tubbo_:** Okay… Tommy-

 **The_Eret:** …

 **Fundy:** oops

 **The_Eret:** Should I be concerned

 **Fundy:** I don’t even know what they were saying lol I was just throwing random numbers around

 **The_Eret:** For all we know that’s their secret code and you just insulted Tommy to the heavens and back

 **Fundy:** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 **Fundy:** Oops

 **Tubbo_:** I just read the conversation

 **Tubbo_:** Fundy I hate you

 **TommyInnit:** DICKHEAD

 **Fundy:** Sorry

 **The_Eret:** He’s not sorry

 **Fundy:** As if you’d do anything different

 **The_Eret:** Touché

 **Tubbo_:** Woah, with the accent on top of the e

 **Tubbo:** Fancy

 **The_Eret:** .

~

“How much longer are we going to delay this for?” Tommy asks, to which Tubbo looks up.

“Hmm?”

“You know what I mean.” Tommy scowls. “It’s been a month. Four weeks, doing nothing, when we should’ve been doing something.”

Tubbo sighs and puts down his book. “Yeah, I know. Soon, Tommy. Maybe we can try getting Niki to help us, too.”

Tommy half-shrugged before putting his earbuds back in. Instead of picking his book back up, Tubbo’s eyes turned to the outside window.

It was windy. 

Neither of them moved to close it.

~

**_DMs- TommyInnit, The_Eret_ **

**TommyInnit:** Hi

 **The_Eret:** No capitals? What’s up?

 **TommyInnit:** I was wondering

 **TommyInnit:** how do you fix a broken family?

 **The_Eret:** ...Tommy, did something happen?

 **TommyInnit:** It’s been going on for _years._ Four, nearly _five_ years, and gods, Eret. I don’t know. I don’t really know what to do

 **The_Eret:** Wilbur and Phil, huh?

 **TommyInnit:** How did you guess?

 **The_Eret:** Well

 **The_Eret:** I’d think that Phil and Wilbur would stay together, especially after Techno died

 **The_Eret:** Unless something happened

 **The_Eret:** It’s kind of obvious, really

 **TommyInnit:** Yeah, I suppose it is

 **TommyInnit:** I just- I don’t know what to do

 **The_Eret:** Hey, it’s going to be fine

 **TommyInnit:** Where do I even fucking start? Like- 

**The_Eret:** Find an opportunity

 **TommyInnit:** But what does that opportunity _look like?_

 **TommyInnit:** ...you don’t know, do you

 **The_Eret:** The opportunity is different for everyone

 **The_Eret:** You’ll know it when it comes

 **TommyInnit:** Not that helpful, big man

 **The_Eret:** Most of the time, the simplest advice is the best :)

 **The_Eret:** Real talk though, Tommy, I’m sure that you can do it

 **The_Eret:** Especially with Tubbo by your side, yeah?

 **TommyInnit:** ...yeah

 **TommyInnit:** Thanks, Eret

 **TommyInnit:** For everything

 **The_Eret:** No problem :)

~

“Wilbur?” Tommy knocked on the door, before cursing himself. Of course, Wilbur can’t hear him. He forgets, sometimes, given how easily Wilbur integrates himself like he isn’t deaf.

He moves to open the door before he hears Wilbur’s voice singing, and freezes.

They’d agreed to only have Tommy talk with Wilbur. Tubbo knew that Tommy was closer to Wilbur than him, and he didn’t begrudge Tommy for it- instead, he understood that Wilbur would possibly only talk to one person at a time, especially for a topic like this.

Plus, Tubbo might say something ill-advised.

Usually, that would be Tommy’s job. But Tommy knows that Tubbo’s fuse, though much longer, is much more explosive than Tommy’s. He stops, and he listens to the quiet guitar.

 _Well I heard there was a special place  
_ _Where men could go and emancipate  
_ _The brutality and tyranny of their ruler_

 _Well this place is real, you needn’t fret-  
_ _With Wilbur-_

And Wilbur falters, and Tommy’s eyes snap open from when they were closed, listening to the music. Wilbur doesn’t sing, and he just strums until he reaches the next line.

_It’s a very big and not blown-up L’Manburg_

_My L’Manburg  
_ _My L’Manburg  
_ _My L’Manburg  
_ _My L’Manburg_

Wilbur has always had thoughts of grandeur, Tommy thinks. Founding a nation would’ve been one of them had they been living in- Minecraft, for an instance, he supposes.

That would’ve been interesting.

It’s short. But there’s a quiet sniffle that Tommy _barely_ catches on, and before he can stop himself, convince himself that he isn’t ready- he pushes open the door.

Wilbur’s head snaps up.

“Hey, Tommy.”

“Hey, Wilbur.”

Awkward silence.

“Um.” Tommy swallows dryly. “Nice song.”

“Thanks.”

A few more beats. Tommy shifts uncomfortably. Wilbur fingers with the guitar.

“What’s the missing line?”

Wilbur was looking down. He didn’t see Tommy’s lips move.

Tommy breathes in and taps Wilbur’s shoulder, gaining his attention once more. “What’s the missing line?” He repeats.

WIlbur stills dangerously.

“It’s…” Wilbur pauses. “Not important.”

“Not important, you say.” Tommy looks at him, disbelieving. “Right.”

The silence becomes suffocating.

“What was it supposed to be?”

“It’s not important.” Wilbur says, trying to hedge him again, but Tommy came here to fix things, not shy away from them.

“Wilbur.”

“It’s _not important._ ” Wilbur insists.

“Don’t give me that shit.” Tommy snaps. “What was the line?”

Wilbur doesn’t speak.

“ _Wilbur._ ”

“It was ‘Wilbur, Phil, Techno, don’t forget.’” He snaps back, and Tommy’s eyes widen in shock. “Happy now?”

“It’s- you-”

“Yes.” Wilbur laughs, far more self-deprecating than he would like. “Yes. Because I’m a fucking idiot who does not know how to move on from the past. I could’ve changed it- heck, it could be _Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo don’t forget._ But no. But no, I hang onto the past like a _fucking fool._ I don’t even know anymore, Tommy. I don’t even fucking know.”

Tommy blinks a couple more times as Wilbur stares at him with tear-filled eyes, pinning him down with an intense- glare, almost. It’s not quite a glare, but it’s close to one.

“That doesn’t make you a fool, Wilbur.” Tommy says quietly. “That just makes you human.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes, but he does not turn away. “I’m not in the mood for whatever wise shit you’re trying to pull on me, Tommy.”

“No, Wilbur. I mean it.” Tommy says, resolutely. He’s made it this far- he’s not backing down now. “It makes you human. Because it means that there _is_ a chance for you to forgive- forgive Phil.”

Wilbur flinches at the mere _mention_ of his name. “No.” Wilbur hisses. “I’m not going to forgive him.”

“You already _have._ ” Tommy snaps. “You already have. You did a _long time ago._ You just don’t want to admit it, because, Wilbur Soot, you’re a fucking _coward._ ”

“I know I am.” Wilbur admits. “I know I am.”

Tommy throws his hands in the air. “So what’s stopping you?”

Wilbur doesn’t respond.

Tommy drags a hand across his face, nearly speaking through it before he remembers, and uncovers his lips. “Wilbur. Please.”

Wilbur sighs.

“Fuck.” Wilbur laughs, again, though this time it’s more for masking the tears quickly making their way down his face. “ _Fuck._ ”

Tommy strides forward, and wraps his arms around Wilbur, who leans into the touch. Despite Wilbur being the elder, it’s Tommy who’s comforting him, and not the other way around, and Wilbur just _sobs_ into Tommy’s shoulder. 

It stays like that for a long time. 

~

Two weeks later, Wilbur is standing outside his hotel room.

“You invited _Phil_ here?” Wilbur whispers harshly to Tubbo, who shrugs and nods. “Are you _crazy?_ I doubt he wants to see me-”

“You promised Tommy you’d try.” Tubbo reminds him. 

“I know I did, it’s just-” Wilbur gestures vaguely to the shut door.

“Hey.” Tubbo puts a hand on his shoulder, and squeezes it. “Hey. It’ll work out. The two of us haven’t been planning this for nothing. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

Though Wilbur can’t hear it, he can almost imagine Tubbo’s reassuring tone. The thought comforts him, and he steels himself.

“Right.” He breathes in. “Right.” He repeats, and before he can think twice, pushes open the door.

He’s there. It’s Phil, the exact same- green and white striped bucket hat, black T-shirt, those same wrist bands that he’s always worn. That’s him.

They haven’t seen each other in _years._

Phil’s entire form tenses when he hears the door open, and he turns around from where his back had been against it. “Wilbur?”

Wilbur stares at his face, unable to form much of a reply.

He knows that he himself has changed a little. But it’s hard to perceive changes when you look at your appearance every day in the mirror, even if it’s over the course of- wow. Five years.

That’s a long time.

Wilbur scans Phil’s face, and he’s stricken by how _old_ the other looks.

Phil stands up. “...Wilbur.”

“Phil.” Wilbur nods. “Do you want… tea, or something?”

Phil looks at him for a while longer before he replies. “...sure.”

Wilbur strides over to the kitchen, and boils the water. As soon as the kettle is making the high-pitched noise, he pours it into two cups, green tea leaves already sprinkled in.

Wilbur returns to the room with the steaming beverage. “I know 70 is the optimal temperature.” He mutters. “But I’m not in the mood to wait.”

Phil inclines his head. “Thanks, mate.”

Wilbur doesn’t reply.

For a few minutes, they sit in silence. It’s not exactly companionable silence, but- it’s nice. It’s quiet. 

Well, the world’s been quiet for Wilbur, for the past half-decade. But it’s a different kind of quiet. 

Like 4:33.

Carefully, he lifts his eyes to catch Phil’s only to realize that the elder is looking at him expectantly.

“So.” Wilbur stops. He doesn’t know how to broach the topic.

He falls silent again.

(He’s starting to get tired of silence.)

“I’m…” Phil’s hand tightens on his tea cup. “I’m sorry, Wilbur.”

“ _Sorry?_ ” Wilbur wants to laugh. “‘Sorry’ doesn’t cut it.”

“I know it doesn’t.” Phil says, and Wilbur doesn’t even know if he’s speaking loudly or softly. “I know it doesn’t, but- I really am, Wilbur. I truly am.”

The words ignite- _something._ Some nameless feeling. And Wilbur doesn’t know how to name it, because it’s nothing like how he was expecting.

Was he expecting anger? He was expecting some kind of anger, perhaps. Lashing out, yelling at Phil, telling him everything he’s ever done and saying all the hurtful words that have been simmering below his calm exterior, waiting to boil over.

He was expecting explosiveness, an argument, and he was expecting to feel that fire roar inside of him, just like it had when he first discovered that Phil and Techno were keeping such a big secret from him.

He wasn’t expecting this sense of… defeat.

Wilbur selfishly stares into the cup of green tea, refusing to look- cutting off the communication between them.

He wasn’t expecting to feel so tired. Wilbur is a long, slow-burning fuse- but when he explodes, the consequences are devastating. He can carry grudges for a long, long time, especially when it involves those that he cares about.

But five years is a long time.

What would Techno say?

A voice in him that sounds suspiciously like the deadpan violinist answers for him.

 _He would tell you to get over it and stop being such a nerd._ That voice says, and Wilbur heaves a great sigh.

When he does look back up, Phil is looking out the window. The cold wind is making the curtains flap, and yet neither Wilbur nor Phil get up to close it.

“I…” Phil’s attention snaps back to him as soon as he speaks. “I just… I want to be mad at you. I really do. But… I don’t know. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of all of this.” Wilbur sets his tea cup down harshly. “I don’t want any more of this stupidity. All I wanted was a fucking family.”

“I don’t doubt that that’s what all of us wanted, Wilbur.” Phil murmurs. “ _Want._ ”

“Is it even possible, anymore?” Wilbur spreads his hands out. “Look at what has become of us. They were right, that day, on our last tour- we were fucking idiots. They were looking for any assurance that they could still be a family- but no. We broke apart. We have fallen _so far._ ”

Phil doesn’t respond.

“Phil, I-” Wilbur breaks off, and he thinks of pink hair, hands holding a violin, square glasses, and a small paper crown that Wilbur had one day put on his head. 

“I miss him.”

Something in Wilbur cracks at the admission, and something in Phil seems to break, as well. When Wilbur meets Phil’s eyes again, he sees the years of pain, guilt and regret in the elder’s eyes, and- _gods._ All he can think of is how selfish he’s been.

_Wilbur Soot, will you think of others for once?_

“I’m sorry, too.” He whispers, and Phil _launches_ himself at him, arms coming around to wrap him so tightly that Wilbur thinks he might suffocate.

But it’s not the same type of suffocation as the silence that had previously stretched between them. It’s more of the suffocation that comes with the overwhelming, confusing emotions that are somewhere between anger, sadness, acceptance and forgiveness.

Phil’s sobs rack his body, and Wilbur can feel it shake against him.

Hesitantly, he returns the hug, and they cry together.

It feels bitter. It feels like blue, and sharp edges slowly, painstakingly being smoothed out. It feels like something softening, tying up the loose ends, braiding the rope between them.

It feels like home.

And they do not tell anyone, but outside, Tommy and Tubbo grin at each other, and silently fistbump.

~

And once again, time flies by. Sometimes, Tubbo has to stop himself in order to truly appreciate the moment. It feels so quick.

When they get back to the conservatory, they’re once again greeted with their friends. Fundy is cheerful, and Eret looks at them with a somewhat knowing smile.

It’s perfect.

Except it’s _truly_ perfect, because now Wilbur and Phil are messaging each other almost daily, and their relationship has mended.

...well, in all honesty, it’s not completely perfect. Because there’s still a few sore spots, Techno’s disease being one of them, that Wilbur and Phil carefully avoid talking about.

But it’s a start. And a damn good one, if Tommy has any say in the matter.

The months pass quite quickly. It’s Tommy and Tubbo’s second year, and they apply for the touring program. Somewhat surprisingly, they’re accepted, and they go around to schools, inspiring the youth and giving back.

None of the students particularly stand out, but it’s a fun experience nonetheless. When Tommy and Tubbo message in their group chat with Wilbur and Phil, now titled _Sleepy Bois Inc,_ about it, Wilbur and Phil send happy faces in equal measure.

So the Christmas concert comes, and the Christmas concert goes.

And Tommy is surprised by a message from Wilbur.

 **WilburSoot:** Hey, Tommy, you up for a vc later today? Phil will be here too. Tubbo’s free to join.

Tommy ponders for a moment, but it’s only a moment.

 **TommyInnit:** Sure, big man. When?

The response is instantaneous.

 **WilburSoot:** 8:30, your time. See you :)

 **TommyInnit:** Alright

~

“So?” The call’s pulled up on his computer, and Tubbo is sitting beside him. “What’s up with this?”

Wilbur’s camera isn’t on, yet. Phil looks at him on the screen and shrugs. “I dunno, mate. Wilbur asked me to be on call.”

They hear Niki repeat the sentences for Wilbur to lip-read, who gives a small laugh.

“You’ll see, gentlemen.” Wilbur sounds vaguely amused. “You’ll see.”

The soft sounds of a guitar start up, and Wilbur’s camera flickers on. Phil mutes himself, as does Tommy.

He recognizes these chords.

 _Well I heard there was a special place  
_ _Where men could play at their own pace  
_ _And form their own kind of music to be heard_

Tommy’s eyes fill with understanding, even as Phil turns to his camera with a questioning look.

 _Well this place is real, you needn’t fret  
_ _With Wilbur, Phil, Techno- don’t forget  
_ _It’s a beautiful and musical L’Manburg_

 _My L’Manburg  
_ _My L’Manburg  
_ _My L’Manburg  
_ _My L’Manburg_

Wilbur is smiling a bit, now. Behind him, they can see Niki grinning, as well.

 _For freedom and for liberty  
_ _Our playing sought to build on these  
_ _And prosperity for all under freedom_

 _Well the darkness came and then it went  
_ _We built our bonds and watched them break  
_ _And there, from the rubble- there emerged L’Manburg_

It’s no longer a song for the freedom of playing how you want, Tommy realizes. It’s for Wilbur and Techno and Phil. The lyrics are changed, and _for a reason._

 _My L’Manburg  
_ _My L’Manburg  
_ _My L’Manburg  
_ _My L’Manburg_

Tommy sees a tear track down Phil’s face, who rubs at it furiously, smiling.

 _Though now the flames have scorched our lands  
_ _Pain and hurt by our own hands  
_ _Oh there’s so many things that we have learned_

 _That perhaps no one was truly right  
_ _That maybe we weren’t supposed to fight  
_ _And so from here, and on- we sing L’Manburg_

 _To L’Manburg  
_ For L’Manburg  
 _Sing L’Manburg  
_ Our L’Manburg

The chords taper off, and there is silence on the call, for a moment- before Tommy unmutes himself and begins to clap, _loudly._ Phil unmutes himself, laughing, crying- everyone is crying, really- and they’re all on a _video call_ , for god’s sake- and yet it feels like they’re all sitting in a room, together, hugging each other and comforting each other.

Like a family does.

_I hope that you can keep on calling each other family._

_Will do, Technoblade._

Tommy smiles, Tubbo crying into his shoulder beside him, watching Phil call Wilbur a little brat for making him cry- and he breathes it in.

 _This_ , is the finished symphony.

~

**_Coda_ **

“Hey, Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you leave the window open?”

“...No, Tubbo. Did you?”

“Uhhhh, no?”

“...”

“...”

**Author's Note:**

> Cameo people:  
> [alwaysananxiousmess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/always_an_anxious_mess/pseuds/always_an_anxious_mess) as R  
> [Ecinue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecinue/pseuds/Ecinue) as Eci  
> [taye_z](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taye_z/pseuds/taye_z) as Taye  
> [Aria_Cinabun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Cinabun/pseuds/Aria_Cinabun) as Aria, and her editor, Julia  
> [BlueQuills](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueQuills/pseuds/BlueQuills) as Bluequills  
> [witsendlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/witsendlight/pseuds/witsendlight) as Witsend  
> [ClockWise127](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockWise127/pseuds/ClockWise127) as Wise  
> [lizz_mer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizz_mer) as Liz  
> [piteouspeculiarity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/piteouspeculiarity/pseuds/piteouspeculiarity) as Lee  
> [MayaTheWatcher](https://www.wattpad.com/user/MayaTheWatcher) as Maya  
> And myself as Jello :>
> 
> Pieces Referenced:  
> Rondo Capriccioso in E major/E minor by Felix Mendelssohn: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yt-lap4E6pU  
> La Muse et Le Poète by Camille Saint-Saens: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NN-35xB-UmA  
> An Ode to Forgotten Friends by Jello12451: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-7oiYoajJ5w  
> My L'Manburg: Well. Y'all know it  
> 4:33 by John Cage: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mr9YnBaZBgc  
> 
> 
> Okay this kinda got speedrun-ed but yeah hope you enjoyed and hope you feel better Eci
> 
> On that note, I plug myself:  
> My YT channel: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQHHEpmzIrOYyxX659-3tfA  
> My discord server: https://discord.gg/HwbkW8jqrf
> 
> Comments & Kudos are appreciated, thank you for reading :)


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